Don't Dream It's Over Ch1
by cheesy80s
Summary: When the SDF-1 returns to Earth after its two-year struggle through the solar system, Veritech Pilot Kyle Denmark slowly realizes that change is inevitable.....
1. Default Chapter

DON'T DREAM IT'S OVER By Jarred Schenke (Cheesy80s)  
  
Kyle Denmark squinted as the sun lanced his eyes. His Veritech gave a last shutter as it fully dived into Earth's atmosphere, the last wisps of ionized flame trailed along the wing tips - the planet's protest to his entry. The sun was bright. That was something most pilots forgot with enough time in space. Bright and painful. Kyle dimmed his visor. It helped some, but even with the filter, Kyle felt the dull ache begin in his pupils. Gravity was another aspect of Earth that could easily be disrespected after nearly two years floating around in nothingness. Now they were back in the soup. That's what Macross fighter pilots called earth at least. The soup. Kyle's flight stick felt heavy, almost belligerent in his hand as though fighting his every move. And the fighter's maneuvers became much more sluggish. "Ravens. Level off descent on my mark. Oh four two," his commander's voice squawked into Kyle's ears. "Roger," Kyle said, but his voice blended into the other fourteen pilots in his squadron. Ahead of him, Commander Larient's Veritech dipped then flattened along the horizon, it's wings spreading out from the hull like some animal stretching after a long nap. Kyle followed the same pattern. The horizon ahead took on a brilliant blue hue, almost blending with the ocean 50,000 feet below him. There was a line of puffy white clouds miles away, nothing to obscure the view of water below them at the moment. Bright flame trails continued to flare up in the sky for miles around Kyle, squadrons of Veritech bashing their way into the atmosphere. Falling stars, Kyle mused. Better to burn out than fade away. Someone famous once said that. A musician. A singer well before Kyle's time, someone his father used to listen to, he suspected. The saying still seemed appropriate given that most United Earth Government states didn't want SDF- 1 anywhere near their territories. The Robotech program was a falling star, blamed for bringing the Zentradi to earth and starting humanity's first interstellar war. Kyle sympathized with that sentiment. After all, the Zentradi pretty much left Earth alone when the SDF folded to Pluto two years ago. Welcome full circle. So far, the SDF-1 was home without a home, stranded to land somewhere in the shallow reefs in the Pacific Ocean until an unlucky host city could be found. "Can't wait to breath in fresh terrestrial air. How 'bout you, Kyle? Did you miss air that wasn't reprocessed?" a voice squawked through his ears. Mitch Reynolds, one of his squadron members with the grace of a swan behind the cockpit. Reynold's red and white Veritech - imprinted with the Raven Squadron emblem - was off to Kyle's left, gliding in earth's atmosphere like it was slipping across butter. Reynolds' flying didn't belie the struggles with wind and gravity. "Can't wait. And I think I'll be blowing the rest of last month's credits downing beer that hadn't been stored in a keg for two years at a bar when we finally dock at a city," Kyle said. Kyle pinched a smile. Fresh beer. There hadn't been much the pilot missed about earth. Unlike most of the Veritech jockeys, Kyle didn't have family. Nor did he leave anything on earth save a pre-21st century Honda trapped in an impound cage for the last two years. As far as he knew at least. It's likely local authorities have already sold it off in auction. But there was Maria. Dark, lovely, eyes of intensity, hair that cascaded in long strands like a midnight waterfall. A big fan of Veritech pilots, and his lover for the six months before SDF-1's ill-fated fold experiment. Maria de Suanika. She had just departed to the University of California, Berkley two weeks before the Zentradi invasion. She was about to test for her professional license as an international arbitrator. Kyle was confident she'd pass with flying colors. Maria wouldn't have had it any other way, and she was good at negotiating, both professionally and in her personal life. Their last words were a rushed good-bye over the phone. Kyle's squad was on downtime while other Veritech squadrons pranced in the sky during SDF-1's christening ceremonies. Kyle was just a few weeks away from shore leave, a nice two-weeks free from duty, and was working out the details with Maria for a visit. Then alarms sounded throughout the SDF-1. A test. It had to be. Nonetheless, he had to suit up and report to the flight deck. "Damn. I'm sure they just want to show off our ability to scramble in an emergency," Kyle had said, some of his fellow pilots prodding his shoulders to get off the phone. "I'll call you back as soon as I turn in." "Okay. I'll be in the library till 10. Just call after," Maria had said in that sweet sing-song voice, laced with a hint of her Spanish heritage. "Be careful out there, flyboy." "Always do. Bye." "Don't forget, I...." He cut her off, not able to wait for her to finish. Duty called. That was two years ago. The attack played out like a circus of chaos. The SDF-1 folded. And Kyle hadn't spoken to her since. He'd seen Maria's parents. They lived inside the SDF, spent months in agony about their daughter, what she must think happened to them. The de Suanikas had latched onto Kyle, invited him to dinner often during the two years. He even spent holidays with them. Then, like his own parents, Kyle lost the de Suanikas when their tenant building collapsed. The tragedy was later determined to be shoddy construction, part of a string of half-fast fabricated buildings during the rush to reconstruct Macross city on the interior of the SDF-1. The de Suanikas and fifteen others were buried in the rubble. And now came the messy details of finding Maria to tell her the news personally before a Robotech Defense Force bureaucrat handed her an apology letter. Kyle pushed Maria out of his mind; this wasn't the time to dwell on the past. "Whoa. Check that out," another pilot said on the general channel. A monstrous pile of darkened clouds billowed miles ahead of the squad. Thick, sinuous clouds that masked ionized flames of red and white lights within them. Then in an instant, the SDF-1 broke through the stratosphere, plummeting at a frightening rate for perhaps 20 seconds before the monolith's anti-gravity engines kicked in, and the space station leveled off. "Stuff nonessential comms until we land. That's an order," Larient barked. Admiral Gloval sure knew his stuff. A former Russian naval officer seemed an unlikely choice to command and pilot a next generation space station, at least to Kyle. Robotechnology always struck him as a young science, something that can be grasped and embraced by those under 40. Maybe there were trials and errors commanding the SDF-1 that Gloval experienced, but other than the folding fiasco that plopped them at the outskirts of Pluto, the old naval commander - who spent much of his career fighting other warships at sea - seemed to take to Robotechnology with stride and ease. At least Kyle had confidence in his piloting. The squad followed Larient's lead for another hour, circling the SDF- 1as it hovered over the empty expanse of Pacific Ocean in grandiose battloid mode. The station lumbered into a shallow perch of the ocean. By the time Ghost Squadron was cleared to dock, the SDF-1 seemed a lonely monolith among the gentle waves that lapped at its pillared legs.  
  
* * * * * By the time Kyle deplaned and exited into the city, nearly 12 hours had passed since the SDF-1 returned. Crowds had already gathered by the telescreens suspended throughout the city, watching up-to-the-minute news about the SDF's return to Earth. And the crowds were getting antsy. Kyle and members of his squad were nearly accosted twice by frantic civilians, desperate to find out when they could get off the SDF-1, and more importantly, where they were going. Other than constant aerial shots of the SDF-1 in the Pacific, Robotech's owned and controlled news bureau wasn't much more forthcoming. Word had already spread among the Veritech rank and file though that the commanders, in all truth, had no idea what was next either. The SDF was home. But it didn't have a home. No independent country or state wanted the space station near their territory, and thus far United Earth Government leaders were congratulatory on a safe return, but little helpful. If the military knew that much already, it was only a matter of time before wilder rumors would spread among the civilian population. And that could lead to even more unrest. Perhaps riots. Gloval better make some sort of speech soon, Kyle thought. Kyle, Mitch Reynolds and Nadine Foster, one of the few female Veritech fighters with active duty aboard the SDF-1, managed to arm their way past the crowds milling about into Jockey's Corner, a neighborhood bar not too far from their flight station. Nadine could be considered beautiful by most standards: a natural red-head with mellow sets of freckles dotting each cheek, a small puggish nose and lean, athletic body she kept in shape to an almost obsessive extent. But Nadine's whole demeanor screamed back off! She was standoffish to most, and certainly never exhibited any signs of a personal life beyond the occasional nights out with the rest of her squad. And even then, she remained staunchly sober. Most wrote her off as just one of the guys. Some even whispered that Nadine's tastes closely resembled those of guys than she led on. But Kyle thought differently. Even in this day and age, female fighter pilots still faced much more prejudices against them than male jockeys. She knew that, felt it every day, with every mission and every battle. She hung tight, never letting her guard down because of it. Kyle worried that maybe she was holding too tightly, but never strummed the courage enough to tell her. "Pitcher of Kirin, please, and three glasses," Kyle said, plopping down his credit disk to the bartender, Mad Charlie. Charlie was a former naval fighter pilot himself, but retired just before the outbreak of World War III. The only action he saw was a small U.S. engagement against Iraq during the last century. Certainly nothing to the extent of action that Kyle generation experienced. Still, Charlie was a roguish fellow who was very easy on demanding tab payups from the soldiers. "I hear we don't have a home quite yet," he said as he tapped beer into a pitcher. "That's the word," Mitch broke in. "I don't blame them after all. Now that we're back, I'm sure they think we brought the Zentradi armada with us." "Yea, but we're still humans after all. We were born here," the bartender said, letting slip some emotion. "I'm sure this is only temporary," Kyle said. "After all, many of us have family somewhere on Earth anxious for a reunion." Charlie shrugged. "I had the phonebots roaming through the bar for awhile, letting you guys try to get a line to the outside world. I mean they typically allow the military to tie up the lines before the civvies overwhelm them. But apparently no one's getting through." Kyle grabbed the pitcher and his credit card, winked and said, "Patience." Charlie frowned and moved down the bar. "Geez Ky, you're sounding more and more like a military bureaucrat every day," Mitch said. "I'm just trying to diffuse this tension. Can't you feel it? I mean it's like the city's about to explode with riots or something." Nadine was waiting at a table, hunched over a small computer top, touching her screen with rapped attention. "Whatcha looking at, Nadie," Mitch said as he and Kyle sat. Kyle began filling the glasses with beer. "I managed to finagle an outside line onto GeoSync. Earth's government set it up as a way to track civilian whereabouts. You know, like current addresses and phone numbers. I found my sister in Boston." she said. "Cool. Can you look up my folks? I mean, the sooner I get them, the better," Mitch said. "I'm sure they're chomping at the bit to know whether I'm alive or not." Nadine passed the computer to Mitch. "How exactly did you finagle a line out of here. I heard they shut all outside communication," Kyle said with a leer to Nadine. "Yea. Not exactly all lines are blocked. It's just a matter of looking," she said. "Don't you have someone to look up?" Kyle gulped his beer, averting his eyes. "Yea man. I remember you were hooked up with that little senorita before we left. Don'tcha want to contact her?" "Not tonight. Let me worry about that tomorrow." Within an hour, television reports stated that Admiral Gloval was prepared to speak to the residents about the SDF's current situation. Kyle was pleased, maybe that would calm things down for awhile. The trio finished the pitcher then made their way outside among the hundreds gathered silently on the streets, all gazing up to the telescreens, as Gloval addressed Macross. "We are in active negotiations with Earth's governments for a permanent home," Gloval said in his thick Russian accent. The admiral's uniform was like iron against his body, his dark hair neatly sprouting from beneath his naval cap and his dark mustache neatly cropped. He exhibited an almost patriarchal air about him, enough to enrapture an audience of thousands with his every word during speeches to Macross. Kyle was always impressed by Gloval. And his speech now was no less impressive. "But for now, we will remain here until we find a city to relocate. At that point, we will begin deboarding residents according to addresses. It is our hope that once we find a city, all non-military personnel will be repatriated among Earth's population, and if you chose, you may relocate off the SDF-1 and into Earth's general population." "But make no mistake, our trials are far from over. I know all of you have paid a huge price to be apart of Macross. We have all paid that price, some of us with our very lives. But still we have the threat in space, one that has every possibility of following us to Earth. The United governments are aware of this, and in an effort to appease their own populations, are attempting to find our best place in an earth transformed by the realities of interstellar warfare. "Of course, the thing on most everyone's minds right now is finding long lost loved ones and friends. We intend to allow that, and are negotiating for open communication lines on Earth so you may track those down. Macross authorities will also be on hand to reunite loved ones on Earth once the SDF finds a permanent home. For now, Earth has allowed us access to their GeoSync database so you may begin to find your family and friends' current locations. "Thank all of you for everything you have given to this ship. Your patience, your support, and most of all, your unending bravery and unparalleled strength to bounce back from every setback we encountered. Thank you." The screen faded to the RDF symbol before news anchors cut in to comment on Gloval's speech. The crowds began to stir again, but this time with less intensity and anger than prior to the speech. Later that night, Kyle stole away to Nadine's dorm and knocked on the door. "Kyle, what's wrong?" she said from her partly opened door, her eyes blearily with interrupted sleep. She was wearing an extra long tee-shirt that acted as a nightie. Kyle was momentarily taken aback by how suddenly appealing she looked. How suddenly feminine she became outside of her uniform. He stuffed his surprised expression as much as he could, not wanting to offend Nadine. "I'm sorry, Nadine, but I was hoping I could use your computer to get on GeoSync tonight," he said. "Now? It's almost three in the morning." "I know, but I wouldn't bother you unless it's important," he said. She sighed and opened the door wider, letting Kyle sneak in. Her dorm was small, much like the rest of the barracks on board the SDF-1. But unlike most of the other soldiers, Nadine had the dorm to herself. It wasn't much decorated save for a sofa chair in one corner facing a small video prompter, a bed in the other corner in the main room. A kitchenette was on Kyle's far right, next to a hallway that led to a small bathroom and another room that was supposed to act as a bedroom, except that Nadine converted it to her own private gym. "Thanks. You're a good friend," Kyle said. Nadine connected him to GeoSync, leaving Kyle on the sofa chair with her handheld computer, and then flopped back in the bed. "Why is this so important?" Nadine said. "I'm trying to track down that girl I knew before the war. Maria de Suanika," he said. "Oh," she said simply, dismissing him almost. "I want to get in touch with her before the military does. Her parents were killed a year ago in that building collapse. I thought the least I could do was break the news to her personally." Nadine placed her hands behind her head, staring up at the ceiling, the glow from the digital screen painting light and shadow along its surface. Her face became distant, as though her eyes were gazing out into somewhere hundreds if not millions of miles away from her dorm. Kyle was beginning to feel that way too. Lost. "You can't go home again, you know," Nadine said quietly. "That writer was right. You can't go home again. It's like now that I'm back on Earth, I don't feel apart of it anymore. I was watching some news channel from California. We're of course the big news of the day, Earth's prodigal sons and daughters return." "Except that earth government really doesn't want anything to do with us," Kyle said. "I know. I was watching the news as well." "But it was more than that. Did you see the clothes that are popular now? I mean two years ago, I wouldn't be caught dead in red pumps. But even some senator in California was wearing them. And other little things, like words and acronyms people use on Earth," she said. "It all makes me feel really lost." "No offense," Kyle said. "But even if they become required uniforms, I suspect you'd go to the brig before wearing red pumps." She laughed, her face for a rare moment taking on an almost angelic, light-hearted quality. Her eyes reflected the gentle lights from the computer, almost sparkling. Kyle felt an ache in his heart and quickly turned away from her. A quick search didn't turn up any Maria de Suanika on current records. Kyle frowned. Would she change her name? Maybe the records weren't completely up to date. At the main menu was a selection for archived/name changes. He pushed it and typed her name in again. The screen blanked for a moment before a blue field erupted with a spread sheet. Maria de Suanika: Passed INT test 03/09. Selected to Negotiator Corp., Olso, Sweden 06/09. Kyle smiled. Good for her. Every confidence in the world about Maria panned out 100 percent. She made it to the negotiator corps. He moved the screen down. And then he felt as though someone kicked him in the gut. Married: 04/10. Name Changed: Maria Newmann. Kyle let out a gasp, startling Nadine. "What's wrong?" Kyle pushed exit on the screen and quickly turned her computer off. He stood suddenly. "Nothing. I misread something," Kyle said. "Sorry again for bothering you tonight, Nadie. I gotta go." "That's okay. You don't have to run off yet if you don't want to." Yes he did. Yes he did. His eyes were beginning to sting. This wasn't right. Newmann. Who the hell was Newmann? Oh God, he was about to sob. Jesus, get a hold of yourself, man. "No. Really, I gotta get back to bed anyway. Up early again tomorrow," he said quickly. "Well, did you find your girlfriend?" "She wasn't my girlfriend, damnit," Kyle stammered. Nadine's eyes broke wide, even in the dark Kyle could tell he surprised her. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired. I'll talk to you tomorrow," he said and moved to the door. "Okay. See ya," she said meekly. By the time Kyle reached the street and was halfway home, he managed to stifle the pangs of remorse that threatened to well into tears, scrunching them deep into a pit in his chest. A pit that ate away a bit of his heart. 


	2. Don't Dream It's Over Ch1

DONÕT DREAM ITÕS OVER  
By Jarred Schenke (Cheesy80s)  
  
Kyle Denmark squinted as the sun lanced his eyes. His Veritech gave a last shutter as it fully dived into EarthÕs atmosphere, the last wisps of ionized flame trailed along the wing tips Ñ the planetÕs protest to his entry.  
The sun was bright. That was something most pilots forgot with enough time in space. Bright and painful. Kyle dimmed his visor. It helped some, but even with the filter, Kyle felt the dull ache begin in his pupils. Gravity was another aspect of Earth that could easily be disrespected after nearly two years floating around in nothingness. Now they were back in the soup. ThatÕs what Macross fighter pilots called earth at least. The soup.   
KyleÕs flight stick felt heavy, almost belligerent in his hand as though fighting his every move. And the fighterÕs maneuvers became much more sluggish.   
ÒRavens. Level off descent on my mark. Oh four two,Ó his commanderÕs voice squawked into KyleÕs ears.   
ÒRoger,Ó Kyle said, but his voice blended into the other fourteen pilots in his squadron.   
Ahead of him, Commander LarientÕs Veritech dipped then flattened along the horizon, itÕs wings spreading out from the hull like some animal stretching after a long nap. Kyle followed the same pattern.  
The horizon ahead took on a brilliant blue hue, almost blending with the ocean 50,000 feet below him. There was a line of puffy white clouds miles away, nothing to obscure the view of water below them at the moment. Bright flame trails continued to flare up in the sky for miles around Kyle, squadrons of Veritech bashing their way into the atmosphere.  
Falling stars, Kyle mused. Better to burn out than fade away. Someone famous once said that. A musician. A singer well before KyleÕs time, someone his father used to listen to, he suspected. The saying still seemed appropriate given that most United Earth Government states didnÕt want SDF-1 anywhere near their territories. The Robotech program was a falling star, blamed for bringing the Zentradi to earth and starting humanityÕs first interstellar war. Kyle sympathized with that sentiment. After all, the Zentradi pretty much left Earth alone when the SDF folded to Pluto two years ago.  
Welcome full circle. So far, the SDF-1 was home without a home, stranded to land somewhere in the shallow reefs in the Pacific Ocean until an unlucky host city could be found.   
ÒCanÕt wait to breath in fresh terrestrial air. How Ôbout you, Kyle? Did you miss air that wasnÕt reprocessed?Ó a voice squawked through his ears.   
Mitch Reynolds, one of his squadron members with the grace of a swan behind the cockpit. ReynoldÕs red and white Veritech Ñ imprinted with the Raven Squadron emblem Ñ was off to KyleÕs left, gliding in earthÕs atmosphere like it was slipping across butter. ReynoldsÕ flying didnÕt belie the struggles with wind and gravity.  
ÒCanÕt wait. And I think IÕll be blowing the rest of last monthÕs credits downing beer that hadnÕt been stored in a keg for two years at a bar when we finally dock at a city,Ó Kyle said.  
Kyle pinched a smile. Fresh beer. There hadnÕt been much the pilot missed about earth. Unlike most of the Veritech jockeys, Kyle didnÕt have family. Nor did he leave anything on earth save a pre-21st century Honda trapped in an impound cage for the last two years. As far as he knew at least. ItÕs likely local authorities have already sold it off in auction.  
But there was Maria. Dark, lovely, eyes of intensity, hair that cascaded in long strands like a midnight waterfall. A big fan of Veritech pilots, and his lover for the six months before SDF-1Õs ill-fated fold experiment. Maria de Suanika. She had just departed to the University of California, Berkley two weeks before the Zentradi invasion. She was about to test for her professional license as an international arbitrator. Kyle was confident sheÕd pass with flying colors. Maria wouldnÕt have had it any other way, and she was good at negotiating, both professionally and in her personal life.   
Their last words were a rushed good-bye over the phone. KyleÕs squad was on downtime while other Veritech squadrons pranced in the sky during SDF-1Õs christening ceremonies. Kyle was just a few weeks away from shore leave, a nice two-weeks free from duty, and was working out the details with Maria for a visit.   
Then alarms sounded throughout the SDF-1. A test. It had to be. Nonetheless, he had to suit up and report to the flight deck.  
ÒDamn. IÕm sure they just want to show off our ability to scramble in an emergency,Ó Kyle had said, some of his fellow pilots prodding his shoulders to get off the phone. ÒIÕll call you back as soon as I turn in.Ó  
ÒOkay. IÕll be in the library till 10. Just call after,Ó Maria had said in that sweet sing-song voice, laced with a hint of her Spanish heritage. ÒBe careful out there, flyboy.Ó  
ÒAlways do. Bye.Ó  
ÒDonÕt forget, I....Ó   
He cut her off, not able to wait for her to finish. Duty called.  
That was two years ago. The attack played out like a circus of chaos. The SDF-1 folded. And Kyle hadnÕt spoken to her since. HeÕd seen MariaÕs parents. They lived inside the SDF, spent months in agony about their daughter, what she must think happened to them. The de Suanikas had latched onto Kyle, invited him to dinner often during the two years. He even spent holidays with them. Then, like his own parents, Kyle lost the de Suanikas when their tenant building collapsed. The tragedy was later determined to be shoddy construction, part of a string of half-fast fabricated buildings during the rush to reconstruct Macross city on the interior of the SDF-1. The de Suanikas and fifteen others were buried in the rubble.  
And now came the messy details of finding Maria to tell her the news personally before a Robotech Defense Force bureaucrat handed her an apology letter.   
Kyle pushed Maria out of his mind; this wasnÕt the time to dwell on the past.  
ÒWhoa. Check that out,Ó another pilot said on the general channel. A monstrous pile of darkened clouds billowed miles ahead of the squad. Thick, sinuous clouds that masked ionized flames of red and white lights within them. Then in an instant, the SDF-1 broke through the stratosphere, plummeting at a frightening rate for perhaps 20 seconds before the monolithÕs anti-gravity engines kicked in, and the space station leveled off.  
ÒStuff nonessential comms until we land. ThatÕs an order,Ó Larient barked.  
Admiral Gloval sure knew his stuff. A former Russian naval officer seemed an unlikely choice to command and pilot a next generation space station, at least to Kyle. Robotechnology always struck him as a young science, something that can be grasped and embraced by those under 40. Maybe there were trials and errors commanding the SDF-1 that Gloval experienced, but other than the folding fiasco that plopped them at the outskirts of Pluto, the old naval commander Ñ who spent much of his career fighting other warships at sea Ñ seemed to take to Robotechnology with stride and ease. At least Kyle had confidence in his piloting.  
The squad followed LarientÕs lead for another hour, circling the SDF-1as it hovered over the empty expanse of Pacific Ocean in grandiose battloid mode. The station lumbered into a shallow perch of the ocean. By the time Ghost Squadron was cleared to dock, the SDF-1 seemed a lonely monolith among the gentle waves that lapped at its pillared legs.  
  
* * * * *   
By the time Kyle deplaned and exited into the city, nearly 12 hours had passed since the SDF-1 returned. Crowds had already gathered by the telescreens suspended throughout the city, watching up-to-the-minute news about the SDFÕs return to Earth. And the crowds were getting antsy. Kyle and members of his squad were nearly accosted twice by frantic civilians, desperate to find out when they could get off the SDF-1, and more importantly, where they were going. Other than constant aerial shots of the SDF-1 in the Pacific, RobotechÕs owned and controlled news bureau wasnÕt much more forthcoming.   
Word had already spread among the Veritech rank and file though that the commanders, in all truth, had no idea what was next either. The SDF was home. But it didnÕt have a home. No independent country or state wanted the space station near their territory, and thus far United Earth Government leaders were congratulatory on a safe return, but little helpful.  
If the military knew that much already, it was only a matter of time before wilder rumors would spread among the civilian population. And that could lead to even more unrest. Perhaps riots. Gloval better make some sort of speech soon, Kyle thought.  
Kyle, Mitch Reynolds and Nadine Foster, one of the few female Veritech fighters with active duty aboard the SDF-1, managed to arm their way past the crowds milling about into JockeyÕs Corner, a neighborhood bar not too far from their flight station. Nadine could be considered beautiful by most standards: a natural red-head with mellow sets of freckles dotting each cheek, a small puggish nose and lean, athletic body she kept in shape to an almost obsessive extent. But NadineÕs whole demeanor screamed back off! She was standoffish to most, and certainly never exhibited any signs of a personal life beyond the occasional nights out with the rest of her squad. And even then, she remained staunchly sober.  
Most wrote her off as just one of the guys. Some even whispered that NadineÕs tastes closely resembled those of guys than she led on. But Kyle thought differently. Even in this day and age, female fighter pilots still faced much more prejudices against them than male jockeys. She knew that, felt it every day, with every mission and every battle. She hung tight, never letting her guard down because of it.  
Kyle worried that maybe she was holding too tightly, but never strummed the courage enough to tell her.  
ÒPitcher of Kirin, please, and three glasses,Ó Kyle said, plopping down his credit disk to the bartender, Mad Charlie. Charlie was a former naval fighter pilot himself, but retired just before the outbreak of World War III. The only action he saw was a small U.S. engagement against Iraq during the last century. Certainly nothing to the extent of action that Kyle generation experienced.  
Still, Charlie was a roguish fellow who was very easy on demanding tab payups from the soldiers.  
ÒI hear we donÕt have a home quite yet,Ó he said as he tapped beer into a pitcher.   
ÒThatÕs the word,Ó Mitch broke in. ÒI donÕt blame them after all. Now that weÕre back, IÕm sure they think we brought the Zentradi armada with us.Ó  
ÒYea, but weÕre still humans after all. We were born here,Ó the bartender said, letting slip some emotion.   
ÒIÕm sure this is only temporary,Ó Kyle said. ÒAfter all, many of us have family somewhere on Earth anxious for a reunion.Ó  
Charlie shrugged. ÒI had the phonebots roaming through the bar for awhile, letting you guys try to get a line to the outside world. I mean they typically allow the military to tie up the lines before the civvies overwhelm them. But apparently no oneÕs getting through.Ó  
Kyle grabbed the pitcher and his credit card, winked and said, ÒPatience.Ó  
Charlie frowned and moved down the bar.  
ÒGeez Ky, youÕre sounding more and more like a military bureaucrat every day,Ó Mitch said.  
ÒIÕm just trying to diffuse this tension. CanÕt you feel it? I mean itÕs like the cityÕs about to explode with riots or something.Ó  
Nadine was waiting at a table, hunched over a small computer top, touching her screen with rapped attention.  
ÒWhatcha looking at, Nadie,Ó Mitch said as he and Kyle sat. Kyle began filling the glasses with beer.  
ÒI managed to finagle an outside line onto GeoSync. EarthÕs government set it up as a way to track civilian whereabouts. You know, like current addresses and phone numbers. I found my sister in Boston.Ó she said.  
ÒCool. Can you look up my folks? I mean, the sooner I get them, the better,Ó Mitch said. ÒIÕm sure theyÕre chomping at the bit to know whether IÕm alive or not.Ó  
Nadine passed the computer to Mitch.   
ÒHow exactly did you finagle a line out of here. I heard they shut all outside communication,Ó Kyle said with a leer to Nadine.  
ÒYea. Not exactly all lines are blocked. ItÕs just a matter of looking,Ó she said. ÒDonÕt you have someone to look up?Ó  
Kyle gulped his beer, averting his eyes.  
ÒYea man. I remember you were hooked up with that little senorita before we left. DonÕtcha want to contact her?Ó  
ÒNot tonight. Let me worry about that tomorrow.Ó  
Within an hour, television reports stated that Admiral Gloval was prepared to speak to the residents about the SDFÕs current situation. Kyle was pleased, maybe that would calm things down for awhile. The trio finished the pitcher then made their way outside among the hundreds gathered silently on the streets, all gazing up to the telescreens, as Gloval addressed Macross.  
ÒWe are in active negotiations with EarthÕs governments for a permanent home,Ó Gloval said in his thick Russian accent. The admiralÕs uniform was like iron against his body, his dark hair neatly sprouting from beneath his naval cap and his dark mustache neatly cropped. He exhibited an almost patriarchal air about him, enough to enrapture an audience of thousands with his every word during speeches to Macross.  
Kyle was always impressed by Gloval. And his speech now was no less impressive.  
ÒBut for now, we will remain here until we find a city to relocate. At that point, we will begin deboarding residents according to addresses. It is our hope that once we find a city, all non-military personnel will be repatriated among EarthÕs population, and if you chose, you may relocate off the SDF-1 and into EarthÕs general population.Ó  
ÒBut make no mistake, our trials are far from over. I know all of you have paid a huge price to be apart of Macross. We have all paid that price, some of us with our very lives. But still we have the threat in space, one that has every possibility of following us to Earth. The United governments are aware of this, and in an effort to appease their own populations, are attempting to find our best place in an earth transformed by the realities of interstellar warfare.  
ÒOf course, the thing on most everyoneÕs minds right now is finding long lost loved ones and friends. We intend to allow that, and are negotiating for open communication lines on Earth so you may track those down. Macross authorities will also be on hand to reunite loved ones on Earth once the SDF finds a permanent home. For now, Earth has allowed us access to their GeoSync database so you may begin to find your family and friendsÕ current locations.  
ÒThank all of you for everything you have given to this ship. Your patience, your support, and most of all, your unending bravery and unparalleled strength to bounce back from every setback we encountered. Thank you.Ó  
The screen faded to the RDF symbol before news anchors cut in to comment on GlovalÕs speech. The crowds began to stir again, but this time with less intensity and anger than prior to the speech.  
Later that night, Kyle stole away to NadineÕs dorm and knocked on the door.  
ÒKyle, whatÕs wrong?Ó she said from her partly opened door, her eyes blearily with interrupted sleep. She was wearing an extra long tee-shirt that acted as a nightie. Kyle was momentarily taken aback by how suddenly appealing she looked. How suddenly feminine she became outside of her uniform. He stuffed his surprised expression as much as he could, not wanting to offend Nadine.  
ÒIÕm sorry, Nadine, but I was hoping I could use your computer to get on GeoSync tonight,Ó he said.  
ÒNow? ItÕs almost three in the morning.Ó  
ÒI know, but I wouldnÕt bother you unless itÕs important,Ó he said.  
She sighed and opened the door wider, letting Kyle sneak in. Her dorm was small, much like the rest of the barracks on board the SDF-1. But unlike most of the other soldiers, Nadine had the dorm to herself. It wasnÕt much decorated save for a sofa chair in one corner facing a small video prompter, a bed in the other corner in the main room. A kitchenette was on KyleÕs far right, next to a hallway that led to a small bathroom and another room that was supposed to act as a bedroom, except that Nadine converted it to her own private gym.  
ÒThanks. YouÕre a good friend,Ó Kyle said. Nadine connected him to GeoSync, leaving Kyle on the sofa chair with her handheld computer, and then flopped back in the bed.  
ÒWhy is this so important?Ó Nadine said.  
ÒIÕm trying to track down that girl I knew before the war. Maria de Suanika,Ó he said.  
ÒOh,Ó she said simply, dismissing him almost.  
ÒI want to get in touch with her before the military does. Her parents were killed a year ago in that building collapse. I thought the least I could do was break the news to her personally.Ó  
Nadine placed her hands behind her head, staring up at the ceiling, the glow from the digital screen painting light and shadow along its surface. Her face became distant, as though her eyes were gazing out into somewhere hundreds if not millions of miles away from her dorm. Kyle was beginning to feel that way too. Lost.   
ÒYou canÕt go home again, you know,Ó Nadine said quietly. ÒThat writer was right. You canÕt go home again. ItÕs like now that IÕm back on Earth, I donÕt feel apart of it anymore. I was watching some news channel from California. WeÕre of course the big news of the day, EarthÕs prodigal sons and daughters return.Ó  
ÒExcept that earth government really doesnÕt want anything to do with us,Ó Kyle said. ÒI know. I was watching the news as well.Ó  
ÒBut it was more than that. Did you see the clothes that are popular now? I mean two years ago, I wouldnÕt be caught dead in red pumps. But even some senator in California was wearing them. And other little things, like words and acronyms people use on Earth,Ó she said. ÒIt all makes me feel really lost.Ó  
ÒNo offense,Ó Kyle said. ÒBut even if they become required uniforms, I suspect youÕd go to the brig before wearing red pumps.Ó  
She laughed, her face for a rare moment taking on an almost angelic, light-hearted quality. Her eyes reflected the gentle lights from the computer, almost sparkling. Kyle felt an ache in his heart and quickly turned away from her.  
A quick search didnÕt turn up any Maria de Suanika on current records. Kyle frowned. Would she change her name? Maybe the records werenÕt completely up to date.  
At the main menu was a selection for archived/name changes. He pushed it and typed her name in again. The screen blanked for a moment before a blue field erupted with a spread sheet. Maria de Suanika: Passed INT test 03/09. Selected to Negotiator Corp., Olso, Sweden 06/09.  
Kyle smiled. Good for her. Every confidence in the world about Maria panned out 100 percent. She made it to the negotiator corps.   
He moved the screen down. And then he felt as though someone kicked him in the gut.  
Married: 04/10. Name Changed: Maria Newmann.   
Kyle let out a gasp, startling Nadine.   
ÒWhatÕs wrong?Ó  
Kyle pushed exit on the screen and quickly turned her computer off. He stood suddenly.  
ÒNothing. I misread something,Ó Kyle said. ÒSorry again for bothering you tonight, Nadie. I gotta go.Ó  
ÒThatÕs okay. You donÕt have to run off yet if you donÕt want to.Ó  
Yes he did. Yes he did. His eyes were beginning to sting. This wasnÕt right. Newmann. Who the hell was Newmann? Oh God, he was about to sob. Jesus, get a hold of yourself, man.  
ÒNo. Really, I gotta get back to bed anyway. Up early again tomorrow,Ó he said quickly.  
ÒWell, did you find your girlfriend?Ó  
ÒShe wasnÕt my girlfriend, damnit,Ó Kyle stammered. NadineÕs eyes broke wide, even in the dark Kyle could tell he surprised her.  
ÒIÕm sorry. IÕm just tired. IÕll talk to you tomorrow,Ó he said and moved to the door.  
ÒOkay. See ya,Ó she said meekly.  
By the time Kyle reached the street and was halfway home, he managed to stifle the pangs of remorse that threatened to well into tears, scrunching them deep into a pit in his chest. A pit that ate away a bit of his heart. 


End file.
